


Lowtown Late Nights

by 3HobbitsInATrenchcoat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fade to Black, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Wicked Grace (Dragon Age), and there was only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28764375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3HobbitsInATrenchcoat/pseuds/3HobbitsInATrenchcoat
Summary: Varric and Hawke have been dancing around each other for weeks. It's going to take nothing short of a miracle to get them together... or maybe just one very comfortable bed.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7
Collections: Hightown Funk 2020





	Lowtown Late Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThedosianScholar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThedosianScholar/gifts).



> Written for ThedosianScholar for Hightown Funk 2020, who said: "I'm going to throw some 'vibes' at you and you see what sticks." Well, the vibes that stuck were "forced to cuddle" and "someone else notices them being in denial." This turned out kind of generic, but I haven't written for DA in about 4 years so I hope it's alright.
> 
> Anyway, it was a delight to write for Hightown Funk once again, I'd missed this lovely exchange more than I can really say.
> 
> Big thanks to Halogalopaghost and Miss Introverted for betaing this.

“ HA!” Varric tossed his cards down on the table triumphantly, worn and faded faces splayed out in a fan. “Five Angels, Blondie. Pay up.”

Hawke, sprawled out beside Varric, feet up on the table with not a care in the world, let out a hiss through her teeth. “That’s rough, even for you.”

Across from them, Anders looked like he’d bitten into an unripe fruit, face pinched as he laid down his own cards.  “ You held off this round, you have no room to talk,” he said, shoving his small pile of coins towards Varric with a grimace. “Anyway, I think I’m done for the night. I can only take so much…” he stopped abruptly with a bit of a jolt, as if someone had kicked him under the table. Maybe they had, with the way Isabela narrowed her eyes at him. “I need to get back to the clinic, excuse me.”

He pushed back from the table, chair scraping noisily on the wooden floor, audible even over the dull roar of the Hanged Man. Hawke watched him go and Isabela chuckled as he paused in the door to rub at his ankle with a sour expression.

“ What was that all about?” Hawke took a swig from her mug and raised an eyebrow at Isabela.

“ Nothing you need to worry about.” Isabella poked thoughtfully at her own small pile of winnings. “I could stand to go a couple more rounds though.”

Varric chuckled and shuffled the cards again, dealing them out with hands skilled from years of practice. “Only thing quicker than my fingers is my tongue,” said the dwarf with a smug smirk, eyebrow raised at Hawke. Hawke, in turn, choked on her drink, cheeks flaming as she tried to get her breathing under control.

Isabela watched all of this with her own rising eyebrows, hiding her twitching lips behind a mug of ale. She’d been nursing the same one for a while now and the dregs were taking on an unappetizing ambient temperature. After the next round of cards she went to take another sip and found the mug completely empty. That must be her cue to go. 

“I think I’m done for the night, should quit while I’m ahead. I’ll leave the two of you to sort out whatever… all this is.” She gestured at the table, scattered cards and coins littering the pockmarked surface, but what she really meant was whatever subtle emotion had been bubbling to the surface all night, hovering thick in the air between the champion and her devoted biographer.

“ Yeah, sure. Thanks for playing, Rivaini.” Varric barely spared her a glance, eyes caught between the table and Hawke. “See you tomorrow for that warehouse excursion?”

She looked towards Hawke, who grinned and gave her a thumbs up, before chuckling and reaching across the table to clap Varric on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t miss it. Try not to oversleep though, hmm?”

“ I make no promises!” called Varric after her retreating back. She just snorted and ignored him as she hauled her empty mugs to the bar counter. They landed on the scarred wood a little more loudly than she intended but hey, she was pleasantly tipsy, couldn’t fault her for a little less coordination.

“ One more for the road?” asked Corff, leaning across the counter and taking the mugs with a raised eyebrow. “It’s on the house since you’ve been dealing with… whatever is going on over there.” He rolled his eyes towards the table in the corner, where Hawke and Varric sat alone, a little closer together than they might if they’d been a bit more sober.

Isabela huffed out a low chuckle. “Sure, I’ll take that drink.” Corff slid it across the counter and she caught it effortlessly, staring down into the dark ale within. “You’d think the two of them would have realized by now, especially since others are starting to notice.”

The bartender couldn’t help his snort of amusement. “With all due respect, captain… I’ve known Varric Tethras for a very long time. It will take nothing short of a Maker’s-damn miracle for him to realize that all his flowery posturing isn’t just his muse whispering sweet nothings into his empty skull.”

“ Here’s hoping that miracle happens sooner rather than later, if they keep pining it’s going to start bleeding out into the battlefield and cause actual problems.” Isabela tossed back her drink with a humorless laugh. “Keep me updated, I’ll be back.”

Corff nodded and Isabela slipped out into the dark streets of the Kirkwall night. Her two friends at the table in the corner didn’t notice at all.

\-----

A couple hours later found Hawke and Varric still sitting at their table in the corner, a little closer together and a fair bit more tipsy than they had been.

“…  so then I told Betin exactly where it was he could look for his missing gold! He stormed out in a huff and I haven’t seen his flea-bitten ass since.” Varric’s eyes watered with laughter. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer man. Good riddance, I found a better publisher less than a day later.”

“ You deserve a decent publisher, Varric,” said Hawke with wide-eyed sincerity, reaching across the table to lay one slender human hand over his own broad dwarven one. “You’ve got such a way with words and they need to be shared.” Her hand lingered for a moment longer before her brain caught up and she snatched it back, cheeks dusted pink. The movement seemed to bring her back into an awareness of her surroundings and she glanced around sheepishly. “It’s getting a little late, I should head back to the manor…”

Varric wasn’t sure if it was the drink or the company that spurred him to say what he did, but he found himself objecting before he could clamp his mouth shut around the words. “It’s pretty late, Hawke. You sure you wanna walk all that way by your lonesome?” He tried to stop talking but somehow his lips still formed words. “Why don’t you stay here for the night and we can head over to the warehouse together first thing in the morning? It’ll save me a hike up into Hightown to get your hungover ass out of bed.” Varric chuckled, but inside his chest his heart was hammering. What had gotten into him? He’d told himself long ago that Hawke was off-limits, he didn’t have time for another heartbreak.

The silence before Hawke answered seemingly stretched on forever, and Varric was sure he was imagining the dusting of pink deepening across her face. He opened his mouth to suggest he walk her back to the manor instead when she said, “Sure, I can stay.”

Varric felt like all the air had been punched out of his lungs. He coughed to cover his nerves. “Well, that’s good.” Pushing himself out of his chair, he stood swaying by the table for a second, equally thrown off by alcohol and his own whirling thoughts. “Corff’ll put all this on my tab, come on upstairs.”

He resisted the urge to let his hand linger as he clapped Hawke on the shoulder, muscling past her towards the steep stairs. His usually steady hands trembled and he cursed himself under his breath as he heard Hawke’s deceptively light footsteps on the creaking wood behind him. Why did he think this was a good idea? Hawke was a trained mercenary with magic and violence at her disposal, she would be fine walking home in the dark. But here they were, climbing the stairs to his cozy rooms and his bed…

Shit. His bed.

Varric inwardly groaned as he pushed open the door to his quarters. Sure, he had a bed that was luxuriously large… for a dwarf. And he only had the one. His drunken brain hadn’t remembered that if she spent the night they’d have to share a bed or he’d need to sleep in his chair. Well, he didn’t want to make this more awkward than it already was.

“ You take the bed, Hawke.” He gestured at the rumpled but still passably clean sheets. “I’ll see if I can find something for you to sleep in and then I’ll be in my chair if you need me.”

Hawke frowned, already unbuckling her complicated leather armor. “What do you mean? We can share a bed, I don’t mind. It’s… it’s not like you have designs against my nonexistent virtue.” She smirked at him but there was a nervous waver to the expression. “Pretty sure that ship has long sailed, Varric.”

“ Oh. If you’re… sure. Ok.” Curse his silver tongue failing him now. Varric quickly turned away to dig through his drawers, the thought of Hawke with others rising up out of nowhere to choke him. He wasn’t a jealous dwarf, hell he’d had his share of lovers through the years… but the idea of Hawke as a sexual creature sent his blood stirring in ways not appropriate for their very strict friendship. Swallowing hard, he pushed those thoughts as far back in his brain as he could and yanked an old worn tunic out of the back of the drawer.

“ Here,” he held it out to Hawke, hoping that his voice sounded somewhat normal and not rough with unwanted emotion. “You can sleep in this. I’m gonna… go check on something.” He waited until he felt his friend’s hand press against his own to take the tunic and then bolted through the curtains separating his office and sleeping space. Once on the other side, he leaned heavily against the wall and concentrated on breathing, willing his racing heart to get under control. When he felt like he wouldn’t combust at the mere sight of his friend, he set about checking the door to his rooms and settling Bianca into her stand for the evening.

Fairly soon though, there was nothing else Varric could do to stall. He hung his jacket on the back of his chair and scooped his long nightshirt from where he’d draped it the morning before. With a shiver in the cool night air, he swiftly shucked off his dusty day clothes and pulled the nightshirt over his head, making sure it was settled appropriately. His heart stuttered in his chest and his hands shook.

Why the hell was he nervous? Hawke was his friend, she’d slept beside him on the road countless times before. This was no different… except it was. This was his private bed in his private rooms and he was still tipsy with the feel of Hawke’s hand burning a brand into his skin.

It couldn’t be helped, this had been his idea and now he had to live with the consequences. Steeling himself, he pushed back through the curtains and stopped in his tracks.  _ Makers breath,  _ he swore under his breath and prayed Hawke hadn’t heard him. Nothing in all of Thedas could have prepared him for this hell of his own making: Hawke, his friend and companion of many years, curled up in his bed like she belonged there, his own tunic against her bare skin and dark hair fanned out across his pillow. The thoughts running through Varric’s head in that single instant were decidedly less than friendly and he knew he had to leave _ now  _ or he’d never be able to look at Hawke the same way again.

_ Fucking fade and all its demons…  _ thought Varric – a little hysterically – as Hawke shifted and the collar of the tunic slipped just a little further south.  _ I’m already well beyond that point. _

He almost made it too, almost managed to turn around and leave and spend an uncomfortably long night in his chair, but Hawke’s hand shot out from under the heavy blankets and wrapped around his wrist. She tugged him closer to the bed and he stumbled against the frame with a startled squawk.

“ Stop dithering about in the cold and come to bed, Varric,” Hawke said, words slurred and half-asleep. “We can…” she let out a bone-cracking yawn. “We can worry about whatever yer worryin’ about t’morrow…” 

With another firm yank, Hawke pulled Varric fully into the bed. He went willingly, giving up all pretense of leaving. When Hawke wanted something… well there was no arguing with her. She flicked the covers over both of them and curled herself around Varric’s back, strong arms pulling him against her chest.

It would be almost cute except Varric knew that any minute now she’d start snoring. He’d better pass out before that happens...

Varric Tethras fell asleep with his best friend’s heartbeat beating steadily against his back and her breath brushing past his ear.

\-----

When Hawke woke up the next morning, it took her a few moments of blinking blearily at the ceiling to remember where she was. It certainly wasn’t her vast and empty manor up in Hightown, not with the muted Lowtown bustle she could hear beyond the walls.

She almost fell back asleep, cradled in a delicious and familiar warmth, when the warmth  _ moved  _ and a presence as familiar as the fade sighed into her ear. Her eyes flew open and she took quick stock of her situation. One, she had the musty post-drink fuzz sitting heavy in her mouth. Two, she was clearly still in the Hanged Man, and absolutely was sprawled across Varric’s bed. Three, her very attractive dwarven best friend was curled tightly against her side. Four… there was a very obvious and familiar hardness pressing insistently against her hipbone and growing more insistent by the moment.

Hawke had two choices. She could roll away, ignore it, pretend nothing happened… Well, if Hawke were honest with herself (a rarer thing than most people suspected) she only really had one choice. Taking a deep breath and praying that she didn’t ruin her friendship in this single moment of weakness, Hawke tilted her hips just a little and ground backward against Varric.

There was a sharp inhale from behind her and Varric flailed backward as he came suddenly into acute wakefulness, achingly hard with his arms full of Marian Hawke.

“ Andraste’s Asscheeks, Hawke,” he swore, trying to scramble to cover his obvious erection with the sheets. “I’m so sorry, I…” He stopped talking as Hawke rolled upright to kneel in front of him, nearly stopped breathing as she reached out with a hesitant hand and cupped it against his cheek.

“ Don’t be sorry,” she said, words catching in her throat, constant charm abandoning her as her heart hammered against her ribs. “I… damn, it might be easier to show you. Please stop me if I’m wrong so I can go throw myself into the bay.” She leaned towards Varric and then he really did stop breathing as Marian Hawke, his best friend, pressed her wind-chapped lips against his own.

He froze for only a second and then his arms came up, almost of their own accord, to wrap around Hawke’s shoulders, one hand buried in her hair. She sighed into the contact and Varric grinned against her lips, darting his tongue out to test the waters. Hawke’s lips parted immediately and her sigh became a moan that would haunt Varric for a very long time. He swallowed hard and drew back, only to brace his forehead against hers.

“ Please don’t throw yourself into the bay, Marian,” he said with a small chuckle. “I’d hate it if you caught a cold and we had to go clear out warehouses without you.” He leaned back in and pressed kisses along Hawke’s jawline, pushing her down into the pillows as he went.

She sank down without struggle until her eyes flew open with remembered panic.“Fuck… warehouses… we’re gonna be late.” Hawke went to pull back but Varric stopped her by swinging one leg over so he was straddling her hips, erection pressing insistently against her belly.

“ Eh, Rivaini’s made us wait for her enough times. Taste of her own medicine would be good for her. Why don’t I show you what else this silver tongue can do instead, hmm?” Varric grinned wickedly at Hawke and she threaded her fingers through his mussed hair, guiding him down.

“ You make a good argument,” Hawke said with a breathless laugh. It was the last coherent thing she said for a good long while.

\-----

Varric and Hawke were indeed late to the warehouse that morning. Isabela didn’t say anything, the grin on her face and the twinkle in her eyes were more than enough to make both of them flush red with embarrassment.

It didn’t stop Hawke from spending the next several nights at the Hanged Man. And then the next several nights after that.

She was right where she belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it and once again it was wonderful to participate in this exchange.


End file.
